


Hands buried deep in soil

by idanit-translations (idanit)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Short, Translation, gardening together, houseplants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanit/pseuds/idanit-translations
Summary: Gardening: activity which consists of putting soil all over the place, to sometimes unexpected results.a translation ofsous_le_saule'sLes mains dans la terre
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Hands buried deep in soil

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Les mains dans la terre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627548) by [sous_le_saule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sous_le_saule/pseuds/sous_le_saule). 



> AUTHOR'S NOTE
> 
> This won’t revolutionize the genre, I agree, but I had the need to finish something, preferably fairly uncomplicated and in French. And a little bit of fluff never hurt anyone.

„No, Aziraphale, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time right now. I’ve just started my annual repotting.”

„You really work with your plants? I thought you were quite content with throwing them dark looks.”

„That’s just a bit of extra reinforcement. Using only discipline leads to nothing good, in gardening as well as in other things.”

„Why don’t you use your powers? You would be done in an instant.”

„First, the effect is better this way. Also, I find it relaxing.

„Alright... no tea, then. Dinner?”

„It’s going to take me at least two days, you know. We’re seeing each other on Friday anyway, right?”

„Yes. Well... see you Friday, then.”

Aziraphale hung up. It really wasn’t that bad. It would give him time to finish arranging the books that he had found the previous day, and even read three or four of them. It wasn’t like he was going to be bored waiting for Friday.

„Angel, it’s always a great pleasure to talk to you, but if you’re going to call me every two minutes, I won’t be around to...”

„Could I come and help you?”

* * *

„You’re not going to put on gloves?” Aziraphale asked with his eyes firmly fixed on Crowley’s darkened hands. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if he spared the little cactus with a silly smile that adorned the front pocket of the demon’s apron more than a glance.

„Having your hands buried deep in soil is part of the pleasure of gardening. But I could miracle up a pair if you’re worried about your manicure...”

Aziraphale didn’t really want to be the only one out of the two of them to wear some kind of hideous gardening gloves. He considered his impeccable nails with a pang of regret. „No, no, it’s fine.” He looked around at the innumerable plants which Crowley had picked up from all over the flat and gathered in the sunroom, the various sacks of soil and substrate, the empty pots meticulously ordered according to their size and colour. Following the demon’s example, he put on an apron and rolled up his sleeves. „What can I do?”

„You could lend me a hand with Dor... with the azalea. She’s quite easy to work with. No, Aziraphale, that’s a cactus. On your left. No. The red pot. Yes, that’s the one.”

Crowley was working on a plant with big green and yellow leaves – God knows what it was called – and Aziraphale, trying to imitate him, carefully removed the azalea from her pot and brushed off the excess dirt.

„Now you gently untangle the roots,” explained the demon, showing him how to do it in a few confident movements while keeping a watchful eye over the proceedings. He paused to choose a pot which would be slightly bigger than the one from which the azalea had been extracted with care that struck Aziraphale as a bit excessive, and passed it over to him.

„Put a bit of gravel at the bottom, for drainage. And once you’ve added the soil, tamp it down. Don’t overdo it.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand why the first package of potting mix that fell into his hands was unsuitable for the task, but Crowley insisted on looking further, until finally he found heather soil. The open bags suffused the air with the earthy smell of humus. The way it combined with the fragrant plants that surrounded them reminded Aziraphale of the scent that welcomed him when he first came to Earth and the planet was still an enormous garden full of possibilities. He took a deep breath. It was almost as pleasant as the scent of old books. He turned around, surprised to hear Crowley humming some quiet tune, and the demon threw him a look of understanding, as if he had followed the train of his thoughts.

After he had finished watering the azalea („Not too much!”), Aziraphale regarded her with satisfaction. Alright, she was leaning to one side a little bit, true. And she wasn’t really in the middle of the pot. And it was obviously very silly to think she was more radiant than she had been just five minutes ago. Almost as much as thinking she was looking at him gratefully. All the same, he had a feeling of having performed a ritual of sorts, simple, but practical; one that reconnected him, who had been living in a city for so long, with something very ancient.

In the meantime, Crowley had repotted at least five or six plants and was currently attacking the orchids. His slender, elegant hands manipulated the fragile stems with gentleness that was not altogether unlike the way he caressed the body of the Bentley.

„Aziraphale?”

„Mmmyes?”

„Since you’re already here, you could help me out with the dracaena. He’s become truly enormous,” said Crowley with obvious pride.

Aziraphale’s task consisted essentially of holding the trunks straight as the demon took care of the rest. When the dracaena had been repotted, it occurred to him that the soil could do with some more compacting, just there, next to Crowley’s industrious hands. He didn’t dare to raise his eyes when their fingers brushed as if by accident. Crowley stilled for a brief moment – and Aziraphale had the impression that the plants held their breath along with him – but didn’t pull away. The angel finally risked a surreptitious glance at the demon, who was frowning at their hands. Ah, it shouldn’t be allowed to be such an adorable blusher! Their fingers tamped down the warm, supple soil around the trunks while caressing each other timidly for as long as they could pretend to be taking care of the plant.

Only when it was done had their eyes finally locked.

„Angel, you...”

„Yes?” said Aziraphale, his voice a bit strangled.

„...you have a bit of dirt, here, on your nose,” mumbled Crowley.

They looked at their soiled hands. Aziraphale remembered he had seen a clean cloth near the support poles and... suddenly, he found himself looking cross-eyed at Crowley’s clean wrist which he was using to rub the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. Without much thought, the angel raised his head a little bit to kiss the place where the transparent skin revealed a delicate drawing of the veins. Crowley’s hand slid down to his cheek.

The demon slowly lowered his arm, his eyes glued to Aziraphale’s and filled with such tenderness that his last doubts disappeared. He hadn’t imagined or misinterpreted all those looks and inflections of voice which had been slipping from beneath Crowley’s shell of nonchalance and irony more and more often.

„I’m sorry. I think I only made it worse,” apologized the demon, his tone more amused than contrite.

„Since you find this so funny...” Aziraphale pressed his dirty hands to Crowley’s cheeks, making his eyes widen as the angel pulled him closer for a kiss. Their noses bumped into each other before Aziraphale thought of tilting his head a little. They were interrupted by a sudden rustle of leaves that broke out all around them like an ovation. Crowley tried to stare down the impertinent spectators, but they didn’t seem bothered in the least, probably because he was sporting the same idiotic and ecstatic expression as his little embroidered cactus. Aziraphale suspected he didn’t look any better himself.

Crowley grabbed his hand and led him into the living room, to the evident disappointment of their observers. They giggled while passing the mirror.

„I think you might be doing a little too well,” remarked the demon. He trailed his fingertips down Aziraphale’s face and then slid them along his jaw back up to his hair. Their breaths mingled as their parted lips touched in light caresses. They held back and tried to make them last until finally they could no longer contain their impatience.

As there was no one to disturb them at last, it was a long time before they managed to disentangle themselves from one another, faces and eyes shining brightly. Aziraphale smiled at the thought that their first kiss will always bear the same scent as their first steps on Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
> 
> I'm not a native speaker of either French or English - I translate things as a challenge for myself and I always welcome any constructive criticism.  
> (I decided to keep the gendered pronouns for the plants. They have already gained sentience and personality; I say let them have gender, too.)


End file.
